Big Kid School
by Forever the Uke
Summary: Secondary school is torture. You're hormonal, intelligent and have a craving for alcohol. Oh, and you're in charge of thirty students. All of whom are greasy, moody and sticky. Only Lord knows why. It's a struggle, being a big kid trying to live the life of a grown up. Specially when your every move is under teenage scrutiny. Well, at least these kids can rely on each other.
1. Chapter 1

**So after not writing for the better half of three months, I realise I have three weeks till I start my second year of a Writing course at university. The result of said realisation is this little thing. ****I'm not overly sure where it's going (if anywhere at all) but I do hope you enjoy it and sure do hope everything's in character. Not that we'd know what that is, seeing how she's just _ABADONED_ us. **

**Anyway, please read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

"Alright, Scumbags, get inside." The teacher's hand held open the paint splattered door, allowing a slow trickle of fifteen year olds access to the large, open studio. He let the glass door slam itself shut as he tried to maneuverer through the anxious teens, eventually taking root behind the desk at the front. "I want bags on the floor, money on the table. Those of you who forgot, you have till I reach you to come up with a half decent bullshi-," he coughed, "lie as to why you forgot."

The room filled with hushed snickers and muttered panic, few sleeved hands shot in the air, wiggling fingers emphasising their need for answers. The teachers eyes rolled somewhat, walking round the front of his desk and leaning against it. He scanned the class, taking in untucked shirts and apple sized tie knots. He blew air from his nose in frustration, first day back and already he's reciting the same old lines. He finds the worst example of uniform and decides to warn the whole class at once. He jabbed his finger at one lone student.

"You, child with the audacity to enter my classroom with that sham of a uniform," said child's eyes widened and her friends flinched also. "Do up your top button and tighten the knot of your tie; it's not a metaphorical noose though I'm sure you feel it is. It is rules and regulation." He smirked to himself as he caught numerous students shift as they tucked their shirts in under the table and a couple tiny hands tried to subtly tighten their ties. "Your question?"

"Oh, urm. I- er, I'm sorry, I- I can't remember."

The teacher quietly snorted, walking towards the supply cupboard. "Alright then, as I said, money on the table, if you've any preferred colour, say so now or forever hold your peace. Can't guarantee you'll get it." He gathered twenty odd A3 sketchbooks and heaved them into the studio, dropping them on the middle table, startling a couple students as he did so.

"Mr Kanda, sir, you've totally forgotten the register," came an overly familiar cry from the back tables. Kanda felt his jaw clench. You see, sometimes, though very rarely, you have the honour of getting assigned the same child throughout the years. Now, usually you'd feel some deep routed inkling of joy that alights in the cockles of your heart at the familiar tone adopted by said students. But in Kanda's case it was a tone similar to nails on a chalk board. Unappreciated and much unneeded. He remained focused on the sketchbook, sorting them into coloured piles, speaking as he did so.

"Devit, what a veritable thrill it is to have you in my class once more, now hush your ever slackened gums, if you are able, that is. I will register the class in my own time, now is your report on my desk?"

The dark haired child scowled at his teacher, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke. "Mr Kanda, you know it's the first day back, right?" He didn't wait for a reply, instead adopting a perfectly honed sarcastic drawl, "I'm not on report anymore, new year, new start. You're hardly encouraging an improvement of behaviour from me."

"Well, you have my sincerest apologies. I must be practising for few weeks' time, when you are, no doubt, on report once more. And I'm merely speaking from experience, what's this, our fourth year together. Truly an honour." Kanda stood and started making his rounds, slip of paper and pencil in hand he walked to the right side of the room. "Now I want your name and preferred colour on the paper and your money if you have it."

Oh how the hour dragged.

* * *

Now, Mr Kanda's studio was one of two that the Art department owned. The third was found behind the frosted glass screen that only opened after home time, the very same screen the department had hidden behind 'artistically strewn' fabrics and inspirational student work. See, what the student rarely noticed was that beyond the display was the small textiles department, and often sat behind sparkly planners and numerous unthreaded bobbins, you'll find Miss Lee, the schools second textiles specialist. She liked to spend her free periods threading empty sewing machines and gorging herself on Special K bars, and this morning was no different.

But every now and again she'd walk over to the frosted screen and attempt to peer through. Of course, she'd wind up standing on the schools plastic chairs in order to get a better view and she'd cackle to herself whenever Mr Kanda would forcefully push his back against it, his attempt of a subtle 'fuck off'.

In fact, she was doing this very thing when a lone student entered her fabric laden lair.

"Miss Lee, I somehow doubt the Art department appreciates your distractions."

Lenalee jumped, her beaded necklace clacking with the action. She carefully placed her heeled boots on the floor and pulled her pencil skirt down a little, smiling at the familiar face with a chuckle.

"Oh, how you made me jump, Wisely!" She walked to her desk and glanced at her wrist watch. "What're you doing here, sweet pea, it's only twenty-to-nine. You skipping?" She asks with a thin eyebrow arched, disapproval swimming in her soft voice.

"Little ol' me?" The teen asked his eyes wide and black painted nails against his chest. "Never, Miss! I have first period free." The teen dropped his hand, walking past Miss Lee's desk, fingers rubbing the lace draped across one of the many mannequins. Lenalee watched as the boy rooted through the fabric bin and pulled a neat strip out, wrapping the thing round his head.

"Wisely, honey," she waited till the teen gave her his attention. "I may have nice clothes and false lashes, but believe you me, beneath my perfectly blow-dried hair is a highly educated brain." The boy looked down at the desk with a laugh. "I know you're meant to be in drama, young man."

"I bet you a quid you have my timetable up on your laptop," he deadpanned, eyes glaring at the pink little device. Lenalee snorted, very unladylike, as she slammed the thing shut.

"Besides the point, you should be in class."

"But—"

"No buts, Wisely. Why're you here in my decrepit little lair, rather than that luxurious remodelled Drama department, hmm?"

"Because Mr Krory sucks balls, that's fucking why!" He cried out of nowhere, fingers picking the black vanish of his nails.

"Mr Noah," she barked, tone sharp as needles. "I will not accept you talking about my fellow teachers with such disrespect." Lenalee stood and walked into the storage cupboard adjacent to her desk. She came out with cotton pads and a pink bottle, taking the plastic seat apposite the boy. "Now I will be having words with Mr Krory during break time and I _will_ find out what happened…"

The boy threw his head back to let out a forceful sigh.

"However…" she continued, opening the cap of the pink bottle.

He rolled his head to watch her though his bangs.

"If you help me set up for class, I guess, if you do everything I ask, you can stay here." She ignored his gaping mouth in favour of passing the opened bottle and cotton pads across the table. "First things first though, no nail polish at school, sweet pea. No matter how well you pull off punk."

"Thank you, Miss Lee," he chimed, so happily, Lenalee felt she'd been professionally played. Instead of saying anything, though, she stood and walked towards the table of sewing machines. Each one she'd named after numerous film characters. She threads each of her arms through two machines and carried them over to the teen's table.

"I'll thread Shrek while you thread Stitch, okay?"

"You're so lame, Miss." He laughs, getting up in order to gather a bobbin and white thread from the trolley beside Miss Lee's desk.

"It's the bane of my life, dear child, most certainly is." She mutters, making quick work of the sewing machine and placing it back with the others. She took herself to her desk and proceeded to re-read her lesson plan, opening her laptop and entering her password. The teacher and student managed to sit in silence for few minutes before the shrill ringing of the bell disrupted it. "The countdown begins," she whispers as the echoes of Art students pass through the frosted divider.

It wasn't long before the divider screeched open and a disgruntled Art teacher pops his head through.

"Lee, stop peeking your head over my damn divider. It's hard enough training children without your mug distracting them." Kanda spews, the tiniest smirk you've ever seen on his face. "And why is trouble child number three in your classroom already?"

"Because apparently," Lenalee starts, closing the laptop as she stands, "Mr Krory sucks testacals."

The Art teacher raises a single eyebrow, adjacent eye squinting in amused confusion. He turns the humorous expression towards the student, whose busy sticking his head as far in the sewing machine as humanly possible.

"I didn't say that," he mutters.

"I think you'll find you did, sweet pea." Miss Lee sings with a wicked grin on her pink pearled lips.

"Sweet pea?" Kanda echoes.

"I said balls, Mr Kanda. 'He sucks balls', that's what I said!" He speaks up, eyes widening as he quickly corrected himself, "not in a literal sense! I'm not accusing him of anything." He was attempting to ram his head in the machine further, pretending to really struggle with the bobbin. "Just, he's so blubbery and he's always on the verge of crying. He just grinds my gears, he just sucks balls, you get me?"

Kanda looks towards the other teacher: she had a Special K bar rammed between her smiling lips. "Yeah, I really don't. Lee, you've been warned. Later," he mutters, scraping the glass door shut once more. Just like that, the small textiles room started to steadily fill with spotty, greasy sixteen year olds. Wisely dumped the sewing machine with the others and jogged to his fellow students, promptly ignoring the lame Miss Lee. She sighed as she collected the black stained cotton wool pads and nail polish remover.

"Alright, my pretties," she shouts above the teenage chatter, dropping the pads in the bin. "Welcome back, take a seat and get comfortable. I hope you had a lovely time off but you're back now and boy do I have some dastardly little tasks in store for you." Her smile made a handful of new students shudder, more familiar students laughed in response. "I have two words for you, little darlings."

They all sat in remarkable silence.

"Tie-dye. Grab your materials and some elastic bands, girls and single boy. You are in for a prehistoric treat."

* * *

An hour later found the school's students roaming the grounds, numerous articles of food between their lips as they refuelled their brains for two more hours of class. It also found a handful of teachers adorned in florescent orange vest coats, effectively in charge of, what they called, 'crowd control'.

"Children, your lips are for eating food, not other student's faces," one particularly enthusiastic teacher bellowed across the field. Slapping his knee with mirth at how fast their faces flushed scarlet.

"Lavi!" The other hissed, "you can't talk to them like that."

"And why not, Mr Walker, why can I not enforce the school rules as I'm very much being paid to do."

The other stopped, standing still as he crossed his arms and furrowed his brows. "You can enforce the rules without crippling them with embarrassment. I mean, look at them."

The two previously attached teens had separated and both found opposite patches of the field to be of absolute fascination. It made Allen cringe with second hand embarrassment just watching them.

"Gah, it makes my back cringe just looking, it's not our job to make teenage life any harder than need be."

"Jeez, you need to pull the metaphorical stick from your arse cheeks," he laughed, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

"And you need to put those away before an innocent child sees you, Mr Bookman, or need I contact your head of department?" He raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk. "Again."

"Har har," Lavi grumbled, pocketing the packet. "You're such a thrill to patrol with, Allen."

"Mr Walker," he corrected.

"A thrill," Lavi repeated.

To which the schools bell cried and the two teachers had a real job on their hands. Herding children into their respective pens or, as the more professional would call them, their classrooms.

"Alright everyone, rubbish in bins and off to class," Allen said to every teen he passed, clapping his hands together with the order. Half of them cooed while the other laughed. Lavi, unable to watch any longer, ushered the smaller teacher inside.

"I do believe you have a class to register Mr Walker, do you not?"

"Oh, crab cakes, you're right." He spun and started to jog inside, stopping suddenly and jogging back. "I'll keep mum about the cigarettes," he whispered, thanking the red head as he darted back inside and down the corridor.

* * *

Now, Lavi himself had a class to attend to, but unlike his proper little co-worker, he had more of a relaxed work ethic. He meandered his way down the outside paths and stood at the bottom of the field.

"Hope no-one's out here playing hooky," he said aloud, fishing through his pockets for the cigarette packet he'd been denied minutes before. He pulled his zippo from the other and lit the thing.

He did a ten minute lap of the field as he had his smoke. Content with the nicotine and lack of students outside he flicked the fag on the floor and killed it under his shoe. Strolling towards the History huts sat outside, he climbed the three steps into his own little home away from home.

These huts were paper thin; as he stood in the little two metre porch he could hear his class through the right door. Through the door to his left was Miss Lotto's class, noisy as ever, and through the door in front was their little History department tea room. He opened said door and popped in, grabbing his reading glasses and throwing his orange vest on the side. He stood in front his hut room door, popping his specs on and entering the room.

"Alright kids, not quiet fifteen minutes but I'd say I was pretty close, right?"

There was a collective groan from the more familiar students; the newer ones just looked down at their history books, unsure about how to respond to the handsome, four-eyed fuck up of a teacher.

"Right then, what're we doing? What did we end on last year, jeez, I can't remember." He pushed his glasses up his nose and ruffled his cowlicks. "Something amazingly awesome, no doubt, well, welcome back. Year elevens! Wow, how my students have all grown up!" He sniffed the air, rooting through his drawers for his lesson plan. He heard the ruffle of fabric and looked up, spotting a familiar hand in the air. "Ah, Lulu, here to save the day, no doubt!"

"The history of medicine," she said, loud and clear, propping her hands together on the table top.

"Yes!" He all but cried, "yes, that's the one, thank you, Lulu. I hope you all revised over summer." He looked at the array of blank, somewhat worried faces and laughed. "Yeah, I didn't either. But big exams this year, oh yes. The big G-C-S-E."

Silence. Awkward first day silence.

"What're we doin' today, Sir?" Came a familiar drawl, "'cause right now you're really overplaying the fumbling professor routine."

Lavi laughed. Why'd he have to have this kid _again_.

"Sorry, sorry. Nice to have your presence in my class, Mr Mikk. Hello. Right, I shall get on with the register, shall I?"

"_Please_," the boy replied.

And boy did Mr Bookman grit his teeth for the hour.

* * *

Allen didn't have a class third period. He left Mr Bookman, darting into the staff room in order to hang his orange vest on one of the few hangers, then he was back out and taking two steps at a time to get to the second floor faster.

Now the English department was one of the few on the second floor. Alongside the library, the only other people on this side of the second floor were the admin staff and head teacher. Now, that really put the pressure on keeping the little devil spawn in order. Of course, life would be so much easier if the English department head wasn't such a dickhead.

But Allen wasn't thinking all this when he burst into his classroom. What he was thinking was: where the hell are all my fucking students.

"What," he said to himself. "I've lost an entire class." He stood in silence, mouth flapping open and close. "How did I? What the hell."

He resisted the urge to look under the tables, I mean, like they'd really be under there. He spun on his foot, brushing his bangs from his face and stormed towards his department head's office. He knocked once on the door.

"What," came the ever eloquent reply. Allen had quickly learnt it was the man's way of saying: come in wonderful co-worker of mine. He all but threw the door open.

"What have you done to my class." Allen demanded..

"I beg your pardon, little runt."

"Mr Cross, sir, where is my period three class?" He spat every syllable, every word clear and almost violent with their pronunciation.

"Oh, yeah, I moved them," he hummed, ramming a finger in his ear and kicking his heels up onto his desk.

"You just… moved them, first day and…just _failed_ to inform me this morning in the staff room." Mr Cross hummed in agreement. "Can I ask why?"

The older male said nothing, opening his desks drawer and rummaging through. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from all the shit and screwed it up, throwing it at the smaller teacher. "I gave you new jobs."

Allen clenched his jaw as he bent down to pick it up, opening it and reading the, almost, illegible handwriting. "What's this?"

"Open your eyes, boy. Your fucking jobs, now get out and do them."

And Allen did leave, for he feared if he stays in that room any longer he'd possibly commit actions so frowned upon he'd be forced to leave the school.

* * *

He didn't get back till one. He'd been gone all period three, most of period four. He'd completed the freakin' list and still somehow managed to maintain a professional exterior. He'd spent an hour and a half borrowing admin phones and telephoning numerous schools apologising on behalf of his superior. He'd ordered in department resources, printed _and_ photocopied Mr Cross' class hand outs, not only that but also colour coded the lesson plans to save further explanation to his abomination of a department head later on in the day.

In case you hadn't realised, Mr Cross wasn't in charge of the English department, Mr Walker was. The staff had a problem, they went to Allen. Problematic students? Straight to Mr Walker's class, with only a threat of Mr Cross, you see a threat was usually all it really took to bring tears to the little shit's eyes.

Allen sat at his desk and scrubbed his eyes. He sighed and decided to cheer himself one of the few ways he knew how. Food. Pulling his bag out from under his desk, he pulled out his wallet. Pocketing the thing Allen made his way downstairs and followed the corridor to the atrium.

Now there was still ten minutes till the lunchtime bell so the kitchen staff were still setting up tables and benches. The counter was all set up though, tills out and on, food piping hot under heated lamps and smelling _amazing_.

He made his way across the maze of metal tables and popped his over the counter, smiling his brightest smile at the cook and fellow kitchen staff.

"Jeryy, can I _please_ have some food." He paused, licking the corner of his lips. "Can I have a drink too? I've had such a hard day," he cried, batting his eyelids.

"Bullshit," came the voice behind him. Allen needn't look to know who it was. "You walked past the Art department window so many times. Hard day my ass, Shrimpy." Allen looked over his shoulder with a glare.

"Okay, first," he started, pointing one finger to the roof. "Stop swearing inside the school. Second," two fingers to the roof. "I have knee pains so I'm still growing. And three," I'm sure you've got it by now but three fingers to the roof. "All the frickin' photocopiers jammed and I was looking for the IT guys." He turned back to the kitchen. "Please Jeryy, I just want like, four Panini's, a coffee and set meal C. Please."

Mr Kanda huffed a laugh behind him. "Well I'll be damned, that's all you're eating?"

"Not now, Kanda, I need my mind on food right now."

Jeryy allowed it just this once, so Allen got his snacks, collected his plastic cutlery and waited for Kanda to get his apple and coffee also. The Art teacher plucked three of the others Panini's, alongside his meagre purchases, and followed the smaller up into his classroom in order to eat. A routine they'd perfected years before. Allen placed all his food at his desk, took to his seat and started eating. Kanda pulled up one of the many plastic chairs and sat opposite; placing Allen's three Panini's down, alongside his coffee and took a bite of his apple.

"How was first?" Allen choked out through his mouthfuls. Kanda groaned before taking a sip from the polythene cup.

"No-one remembered money; I took three shoes in exchange of basic writing equipment and Miss Lee decided to gawp at my class through the divider."

Allen huffed a laugh into his jacket potato. "Three shoes? What is it with school kids, the further through school they get the less equipment they bring?"

"Oh and Devit's in my class. _Again_."

"Oh brilliant," Allen said, smiling into his tea. "Your favourite student, what's it, third year in a row?"

"Fourth," Kanda corrected.

They both sat in comfortable silence, eating as the lunch bell rang and the corridors flooded with students. Allen stood from the desk and shut his classroom door.

"So why the hard day," Kanda spoke over the rum of his cup, "third period with the year elevens too stressful for you?"

Allen side stepped the sarcasm as he dug through his trouser pockets, pulling the scrunched up note from it and throwing it at his colleges head. The paper flew beautifully, bouncing off Kanda's head quite nicely. The Art teacher being used to such behaviour just leant down and plucked the note of the floor, peeling it apart and reading it.

"I didn't have third period," Allen fumed.

"I don't get it?"

Allen sat up straighter, "alright, so my twit of a department head moved my class to another teacher and coerced me into doing his flippin' dirty work."

"And you did it?" Kanda asked, lip sneering at the note.

"He'd moved my class, I had no choice, woe is me."

"But you planned that lesson for hours," Kanda started. "I should know I fuckin' helped, as did Lavi and Lee. Fuck, it was a fuckin' group project by the end of the night."

"Don't even go there, Pretty boy. I may cry." He screwed up one of his many greasy Panini wrappers and threw it at the other. "My life," he moaned. "I wanna teach English, not be some assholes PA, God."

Kanda snorted, standing up and walking round the desk. He leant over Allen and grabbed the man's leftover papers in one hand; standing straight he placed the other atop Mr Walker's coarse haired head. "Well, Tiny man," he started, "use some of the dazzling personality you show me and I'm sure you can tell Mr Cross to go fuck himself."

Allen swatted the man's hand from his head with a laugh, eyes closed and nose in the air. "Language, Mr Art and Design." He opened his eyes and jutted his tongue out. Kanda had disposed of the rubbish and leant against the now open doorway, flippin' the bird in reply.

"Well Mr Context and Connotations, grow a pair of balls and I needn't be so crude for you. See ya, Shrimpy." And with a wave of his hand he was gone.

Allen stared at the doorway with a small smile. A quick laugh and he was pulling his phone from his bag and dropping three people and identical text.

* * *

**To:** [Miss Bobbin], [Mr Art and Design], [Mr Specy and Book]

**Message:** [I've been persuaded to host an annual drink and recover meeting. Please attend by 17:00 (PM) or all drinks may be consumed before your arrival. Don't know about you but I need a drink after an apocalyptic first day. Woe, how I fucking miss summer. Mr C+C]

Allen heard his phone buzz a total of three times during his last period. And it took almighty willpower to put the thought to one side. His class couldn't finish soon enough, for as soon as the last student fled the classroom Allen whipped his phone out, entered his passcode and flicked through the replies.

**From:** [Mr Specy and Book]

**Message:** [Preach my brother! Gonna fuckin' smash it! Mr S/B 3]

**From:** [Miss Bobbin]

**Message:** [Whaaaaat? I've had a day of tie-dye and needle work, plus Art room peeking. Obvs best first day back but defo be there for my main bestie! Excitement over 1000! MsB xxx]

**From:** [Mr Art and Design]

**Message:** [Amen Shrimpy. MA+D]


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so this story is actually really enjoyable to write. I'm getting all reminiscent about my school days and it's reigniting my desire to be a teacher. How crazy is that? It seems people are liking the story so far so I can only hope you like this chapter as much as the first.**

**Anyway, please read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

Kanda pulled the knot of his tie till he was satisfied it was a good example for his students. He sniffed as he bought his knuckles to his neighbour's door and gave a quick three knocks. While he was waiting he shifts his backpack back up his shoulder and tightens his hairband.

He waits.

He knocks again.

He loses his patience.

"What the fuck," he shouts through the door, kicking it with the flat of his foot, satisfied as the whole door rattled. "Open the fuckin' door!" A few kicks later the door does in fact open, revealing Kanda's neighbour. Eyes half lidded and hair a shocking vertical collection of flicks. Kanda's eyes widen as his brows lower and knit together. "Why the _fuck_ are you not dressed yet?" He slowly asks the man.

Allen stood at his door and yawned, blinking at the man's words. He was wearing an old worn rugby team top that was three sizes too big for his thin frame. The neck hole was so large it hung off his shoulder but what always caught Kanda's attention the most when seeing Allen in casual wear was the string of tattoos that trailed down his entire left arm, starting from his collar bone and ending just before his wrist. "Wait…" Allen started, all drowsiness leaving his system with a metaphorical flush of realisation. "What day is it?" His face drops with the question, an unspoken beg that it not be the day he thinks it is.

"Holy fuck," Kanda muttered. "It's Friday. It's fucking half six in the morning on the last day of our first week back," he pinched the fabric of Allen's top between his finger, "and you've overslept." He releases it, pleasantly surprised at how it pings back against the man.

"Ooh shit, oh shit, Kanda, I'll be so late," Allen turns tail and runs into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. "Fuck!" Kanda hears him cry but he just laughs as he follows the man into the apartment.

Allen's home is as big as the Art teachers. It's a simple layout. Kanda steps though the front door and walks right into the main body of the apartment. One half of the room being Allen's favourite half, the kitchen, a jumbled collection of unwashed plates, alcohol bottles and food cartons. The other half a living room, stuffed with thick books, gaming controllers and cat toys.

"Have you eaten yet?" Kanda shouts through to the bedroom. Allen pops his head through the doorway, clad only in his tight underwear, toothbrush in mouth.

"Nuh yea," he speaks through the foam, spitting some on the tiled floor.

"What about Tim? Has he eaten yet?" Kanda asks, unable to look at anything but the spat out toothpaste foam bubbling on the tiles.

"I shad, nuh yea, wa sleepig, dum arsh," and he was gone.

Kanda blinked at the doorway, smirking as he moved to the man's fridge. He routed through till he found the left over crumpets he'd knew were there. He slams the heavy door and places the packet on the side, turning the ovens grill to its highest setting. He flicks a glance at the wall clock and decides there's no time to wait. He pivots on his feet, reaching for the man's soon to be breakfast and throws it in the oven, opening the grills door slightly.

Kanda hears the shower turn on so he walks through the only other doorway and into Allen's bedroom. It isn't what you'd expect: dirty, littered with lesson plans and student's homework waiting to be marked. He spots the familiar worn top by the bathroom door and picks it up, holding the T-shirt away from himself in order to get a better look.

"Wait a fucking second," he flips the old university rugby team top over, taking note of the faded MA+D on the back. "Little shit," he mutters, lifting his head to look at the closed bathroom door. "'Oh, your rugby top? Uh yeah, I lost it. Sorry, Pretty boy'," Kanda impersonated badly, "lost it my fucking ass." He screwed the top up, bunging it in Allen's clothes drawer while throwing a dirty glare at the locked door. "Fucking thief," he growl with a tiny upward curl of his lip. He turns his attention to the English teacher's unmade bed. With a roll of his eyes he makes quick work of straightening the duvet so he goes into the man's closet. He pulls out a clean white shirt, the usual waste coat and trousers, picking up a few clothes sat at the bottom and rehanging them while he's in there.

He strolls to the bathroom door and gently kicks it. "Clothes are on your bed, Your Grace. You have around twenty minutes till I leave solo style," he spoke into the wood.

"You'll be the Robbie Williams to my Take That," came the muffled reply. "But thank you, Darling!"

* * *

When Allen returns to his kitchen he finds Kanda sat at his small circular table, sipping a cup of coffee while scrolling through his phone. He spots a familiar blonde podge of fur eating in the corner and takes the seat opposite the man with a grin. There's a plate of breakfast and a mug of tea sat on the table before him so he takes a bite from the crumpet then, once swallowed, a sip from the cup.

"I'm not joking here, you'd actually make such a good wife," Allen mutters round another bite of his crumpet. "Jesus, I feel like crying." He sniffs, clutching at his shirt, "I'm so loved."

"Yeah, well hurry the fuck up, we need to get going."

Kanda's words made Allen step up a gear. The smaller man stood up, draining his tea in a minuscule amount of glugs and all but threw it in the sink. "Holy shit, you cleaned all the plates," Allen laughed, grabbing his last crumpet and ungentlemanly ramming it in his mouth. "su a good pershon, 'anda."

"Quarter past seven, come _on_," the other barks from the front door, bag already back on his shoulder.

"Wait a second, wait!" Allen cries satisfied when the taller pauses. He leans down and scoops the furball up, disgruntled blue eyes blinking round at the higher view. Allen waddles over to Kanda and presents the beast, an all too mischievous gleam sat in his eyes. "What do you say?" He asks and Kanda sighs, leaning forwards.

"Goodbye Tim," he coos all too enthusiastically, rubbing his nose against the blonde fur of the cats head. Anyone who didn't know the man would melt at the sight. However those who_ did_ knew that the tone was Kanda's own little unspoken 'fuck you' to an order. The thought was only confirmed when Kanda rose from Tim's head with an aggressively untruthful smile.

"I told you he loves you, buddy," Allen fusses as he lets the beast jump to the floor. They both spare a minute to watch the chunky creature jump on the kitchen side and curiously stick his head in Kanda's coffee mug. "Stay beautiful, Tim," Allen cries as both men leave the apartment.

Once outside, Allen starts bounding down the corridor towards the staircase. He only stops when he fails to hear heavy footsteps behind him. He turns round to find Kanda sill stood by his door. "What the hell are you doing?" He shouts, ignorant of the early hours.

"You're not forgetting anything there?" Kanda returns, acting all nonchalant.

"A good-morning kiss, maybe? But apart from that, my giant wife, no, don't think so. I'm missing nada." Allen sighs, nose in the air, making his way back to the other. "Why you asking, come on, we need to _go_." He throws his arms towards the staircase for emphasis.

"Oh, because I was just wondering how you plan on teaching without-" he checks them off on his fingers, "-your laptop, or your lesson plans or _perhaps_, the most important one…" He looked down at the other, waiting for him to catch on, "where the fuck is your bag, you idiot."

Allen lets out a roar of frustration, fishing his house keys from his waistcoat pocket. "God damn it!" Kanda snorts as the other runs inside his apartment, rolling his eyes at the racket that closely follows, "fuuuck!"

"I think I saw it beside your bed," he shouts into the apartment.

"Then why didn't you fucking pick it up, you asshole?" Allen belts back.

"Because, in contradiction to both our actions, I'm not _actually_ your fucking wife," he chucks back. Throwing himself against the wall in frustration, he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. "Oh my- this has been the longest morning yet," he mutters, leaning into Allen's home. "You're _killing_ me," he cries.

Eventually Allen comes running out, satchel hanging from his shoulder. "I've got it, let go," he shouts, not pausing as he runs towards the stairs. "I'm late, I'm late," he shouts as he goes down the stairs smiling. Kanda doesn't pause to ask why: he simply grabs a strap of his backpack and joins the race. "For a very important date," he hears Allen cry as he jumps down the last three steps to the ground floor. He's huffing a laugh, smirking as he catches up to the other teacher.

"No time to say hello goodbye," Allen continues yelling. "I'm late, I'm late. I am crazy, crazy late!"

"Roll your sleeves down," Kanda tells him as they turn a corner towards the secondary school. The other almost trips as he turns his attention from the pavement and instead to Kanda.

"What, why?" He pants, slowing his running down considerably.

"Because the students are used to the meek little bookwork Mr Walker," Kanda said, as if the answer was so obvious. They enter the school grounds, Allen hastily rolling the sleeves down in order to hide his tattoo sleeve, the same as he'd do any other work morning.

"Shit, I forgot," he muttered. A question bubbles up his throat and out his mouth before he knows what he's saying. "I'm not him now?"

"What, meek Mr Walker? Hell no," Kanda said, you could hear the unspoken laughter in his voice. The two had quit with the running, both of them having last exorcised years ago. They were walking at a brisk, still somewhat leisurely, pace as they made a beeline for the reception. "No, right now you're tattooed, somewhat alcoholic, street singing Allen." Kanda watched as the other furrowed his eyebrows. "Oh yeah, he's known for cheating at cards and swearing like a god damn sailor. He'd never get caught being his department heads little, stick up his arse, bitch."

Allen stood still and Kanda watched as his face dropped. He could feel an apology in his mouth but he squashed it under his tongue. He just told himself it was for Allen's own good.

"Well," Kanda started, "this is where we part, Shrimpy, I have my joyous fifteen year olds first. Button your sleeves, see you at lunch." He threw a wave over his shoulder as he left Allen at the schools reception entrance.

* * *

Friday's break time bought the students the delightful treat of Miss Lee and Mr Kanda in yellow florescent matching vests. The two were known as the mother and father of the Art department. Of course, Lenalee insisting they link arms during break time duty did nothing but enforce the rumours, especially as every time Kanda tried shaking her off she publically scolded him.

"A little birdy told me you and Mr Walker were late this morning," the way she said it made Kanda's eyes connect to the gravel. His jaw was clenching in an uncomfortable way and he felt her hand coil round his arm tighter. "Do tell, Pretty boy."

"Don't call me that," he groans, trying to subtly shake her off. "Don't think I didn't notice that appalling uniform, Mr Bolic," Kanda stopped and Miss Lee released her death grip, walking up to the teen in question.

"Do your top button up now, young man. Tuck your shirt in too, sweetie." The student towered over the Textiles teacher and as Kanda watched he could only envision Lenalee as a tiny Yorkshire Terrier, yappy but in an nauseatingly honeyed way. The student dwarfed her but she certainly held her own. He felt no need to stand in. "Where was I, Mr Kanda?" She asked as the teen stalked off, uniform spic and span.

"I seem to have forgotten, Miss Lee. A pity."

"Ah yes," she clicks her pastel nailed fingers, once again threading her arm through his reluctant one. "My little birdy's message," she laughed, repeatedly raised her eyebrow with an unfittingly lecherous grin on her lips.

"Who's this little bird," Kanda demanded.

"You first, Mr Art and Design. I wouldn't dare steal the limelight."

Kanda stares at her, mouth somewhat slackened. It had been a good while since she'd been this _herself_ at school. "You're acting unusually _you_ today," he mumbled. "However I must object. You lead the way, Miss Lee, I'll follow through."

_I'll follow through_.

She had a mind that was forever in the gutter. She snorted, reclining her head back and gaining two extra chins with the action. Many students walking past stifled their laughter in fear of their authority. Others, however, didn't give a shit.

"Wow, Miss Lee, looking good. Hope the wind changes, that face is a picture," was the irksome heckle.

"Yeah, yeah!" Another went, followed with a mirthful cackle. "Good one, Brother!"

Lenalee laughed, bless her good nature. "Jasdero, my love!" She cooed, catching the younger brother's attention, hook line and sinker. "Oh how your hair looks lovely today! I have you fourth, do I not? I hope you're better, you missed Wednesday's class, boy I sure could've used your input! We were designing, your favourite, oh, I set homework but I'll tell you all about that later!" She took in the boy's heavily redesigned blazer. She gasps and grasps his sleeve. "Jasdero," she starts and the other two watch him gulp. "This needle work is fabulous!" she squawks, thereby hurdling them down a whole other route of conversation.

Kanda was left with the other brother, both staring at their respective partners gabble over, literally, material nonsense. Kanda inwardly groaned, releasing any hope of abandoning the overly familiar teenagers. He eyes the other brother, speaking with an inoffensive drawl he'd perfected over their years together. "Hello to you, my old chum, what a delight to see you outside of my classroom," he didn't miss the smothered smile of the teenager. "Devit, how I hope you have your sketchbook money, for I loathe hounding you about it every second of every minute we share."

"Ah, yes. About that," he starts, holding his hands in prayer before his face.

"You're joking," Kanda starts, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I had it, but then I bet Jasdero couldn't chug four cartons of milk without spewing it everywhere."

"I'm assuming he could stomach it, seeing as you're coinless and everything," Kanda muttered, strings of curiosity among the irritation in his voice.

"Oh no, he vomited." Devit rammed his hands in his blazer pockets. "All down the science corridor and I tell you something," he paused for blatant dramatic effect. "Did my kid brother spew, Mr K, did he spew."

"Delightful."

"Tell me about it," Devit sighs. He pulls a hand from his pocket and fiddles with an 'against the rules' piercing, watching his beloved twin chatted animatedly with his teacher.

"So what happened to the money," the teacher asks quietly, "I mean, if he was sick everywhere, you won the bet, right?" Somewhere down the line Kanda had become emotionally invested in the teenager's tiny anecdote. Sure the brat was nerve shatteringly annoying but it was a consequence of being so damn interesting. "Where's my money," he asked, frowning at the child.

"Well I forgot about Art class and used the money to buy the milk, didn't I."

All Kanda can think to say was: "Devit..."

The teen backs away, hands in the air. "I know, I know. But I am real sorry Mr K." Kanda snorted as he looked away, he didn't bloody sound it, that's for sure.

"Sure you are, Kid."

"Sure as the sky is blue, Teach."

Kanda was suddenly overcome with the overwarming urge to laugh. He watched as Lenalee continued to gush over the other brother's handiwork and he watched as the teens face would light up, explaining the ideas behind the stitches and hidden zippers. It was the one decent thing about working with teenagers, he supposed. You're kinda, sort of helping them develop their future lives and interests. It was the war they all signed up for, after all. Trying to get the naughtiest of the children the grades they're truly capable of. It was this uncharacteristically sappy thinking that spurred him to say what he did.

"Tell you what, Devit. I've been teaching you, what, four years?"

"Something ridiculously long like that, yeah."

"And we have a certain level of rapport, you'd agree?"

"If I knew what it was, sure. Don't sound too dodgy, I suppose." He sniffed, giving the teacher a sideward glance. "What you selling me, Teach?"

Kanda snorted. "You stay off report till Christmas break and we forget about your little sketchbook dept."

"You're shitting me."

"Language," Kanda scolded, not even having to think about it.

"Sorry, my bad," Devit replied quickly, standing straight as he rephrased himself. "You're shitting me, Sir."

Kanda tried so hard to not smile at the lad.

"But it'll take so much effort to be a good child for such a _long_ time," Devit continued. "I mean December…" He scrunched his face and shook his head slightly. "I dunno, Mr K, doesn't seem worth it."

"Let me rephrase then, you staying off report is worth more then you'll ever know, alright. Though you won't believe me, we teachers actually care about our students, so how does this sound: sketchbook, free of charge, and your choice of new art supplies? Going once, going twice…"

"And I am sold, Mr K." He jumps in. "Well, crap, Sir. We have ourselves a deal." He stood back and smirked at his Art teacher. "You're alright, Mr Kanda."

To which the bell screamed at Devit turned, prying his brother and the Textiles teacher apart. The twins both squeezed out pleasant goodbyes and separated, each running to their assigned classes. Lenalee joined Kanda's side, looping their arms together one final time. As they walked the perimeter of the field, Kanda could feel Lenalee scrutinizing him.

"What?" He snapped, breaking out of her hold.

"You're trying not to smile!" She cackles, worming her face closer to his.

He stretches his back, looking to the sky and closing his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he sighs, forcing his lips still. He could feel the muscles of his face twitching, aching to smile or laugh or do something remotely positive. His eyes sprung open when he heard the spark of a lighter and opening them revealed Miss Lee lighting the end of a cigarette.

"What?" She mimicked, voice as low and monotone as she could manage, smug smile round the stick.

"You'll get fired," Kanda scolded, arm crossing his chest and eyebrow arched.

"Fine, fine," she sighed, a plume of smoke leaving her red lips. She quickly took three deep drags of the thing, dropping it and crushing the thing under her heel, flashing a false smile at the other. "So why were you and Allen late this morning?" She exhaled a car worth of smoke from, what must be, decrepit giant lungs.

"Who told you this," Kanda groaned. "We weren't late. We entered reception at an honourable time. Your sources are faulty, Lee."

"Whaaat?" She whined, bending over, utterly dejected. "But he said you two were all breathless and pink and panicked," she stood straight, running her hand through her short locks. "So obviously, gutter mind that I have, I thought you two had been doing the do and came in late as a result."

"Doing the do?" Kanda repeated. "Doing the do, who _are_ you?" He squinted at her, trying to suss the stranger out. "It's like I don't even know you anymore. Doing the do? He woke up _late_, we were _running_. You know, that fast walking you do when you're _late_," he shook his head. "Doing the do, be ashamed Lenalee, oh how I wish your brother was here right now," and oh how Kanda bit his inner cheeks. Smiling would just ruin it.

At least she had the decency to flush slightly. "I'm sorry, okay! Wishful thinking." She held her arm up, accepting her mistake. "Don't act like you wouldn't," she whispered under her breath, pouting in disappointment.

"That's beside the point, Lee. He was late, that's all it was, I'm afraid. Please don't make it into something it's not." He fought the urge to sigh, instead pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time. "You go on ahead," Kanda yawned, "I have next period free anyway."

"You sure?" She might have asked him, but she'd already started retreating backwards, up and off the field. "Thanks, Kanda, see ya!"

She'd just left him. She'd just up and left him with an unnerving smile on her face.

"Later," he muttered, sneering down at her crushed cigarette butt.

* * *

Lunchtime couldn't have come fast enough.

"Alright devil children," Lavi spoke up from his spot behind his desk, "off with you, be gone. Out of my sight." He heard a couple laughs and considered it a victory, not many children have the balls to laugh at their teachers jokes, after all. "Oh! And homework, Monday, no excuses." An audible stampede of fleeing children later and Lavi leant back in his chair, whipping his glasses off and rubbing his right eye vigorously.

"How long you gonna keep me waiting, Sir?" The voice was tight, crisp as it slapped Lavi's cheeks, bringing him back to the room. Mr Bookman bought his eyes down from the ceiling and took in the lad's uniform.

"Speak to me when your uniform is as the rules require it to be, Mikk. You're after your report, I presume." He shuffled though the array of papers on his desk.

"Don't waste my time presuming when you know it's the correct answer," he growled, the embodiment of teenage rebellion. Mr Bookman ignored the boy, lifting numerous scraps, hunting the pink booklet down. "Have you lost my report?" He asked, leaning his weight against one of the front tables.

"Not lost," Lavi started, bending his head under the desk. "More misplaced."

"Fucks sake," Lavi heard the teen mutter. "You're the actual worst."

"I'm the worst at organisation, yes." Lavi sighed as he stood away from his spot in the corner, scrubbing his cowlicks with vigour. He stopped and took in the sight of the messy, good-looking teen and felt his temper flair. He saw all the things the child was capable of and remember how he'd just spent the week watching the kid throw it away. "But let me tell you something," he spoke up, deciding to be a teacher for a moment. "Your attitude will be your downfall, Tyki. In fact," Lavi crossed his arms over his chest, all humour leaving him as he adopts his 'serious teacher' facade. "I bet a pound to a penny, the reason you're already on report is that mouth of yours." Tyki's eyes drop to the floor so he knows he's right. "You're a good kid, sure a little snobby but you're fun to teach. And I am perfectly aware that I sound like I've walked straight out of a school soap drama," he gave himself a mental clap on the back as he saw the kid hide a smile. "But it's your last year. I don't wanna see you screw yourself over, because believe it or not, I actually want what's good for you."

He watched as his words made the teen physically flinch, honeyed eyes turning looking anywhere but him. His mouth opens to spit his rebuttal, but the words never came. Instead the boy slackens his jaw and turns to look out the hut window, eyes suspiciously shiny. "Well can I go then?" He croaks quietly, words dissolving before they really go anywhere.

Lavi can feel his face heat. He'd made a student pretty much cry with his corny teacher speech. His fingers twitched as they hung by his sides. This had never happened before. Does he go comfort the boy? Laugh it off? He still had to find the kids fucking report but instead he has to somehow dissolve the awkward atmosphere currently filling the room.

Then his classroom door springs open.

"Oh my lord, La—" Miss Lee halts, taking in the surprised face of one Tyki Mikk. "Mr Bookman, you never told me you had the fabulous Mikky Mikk in your class!"

And oh how he thanked the Lord for Miss Lenalee Lee. She was the metaphorical plunger that always unclogged his shit filled predicaments. The mood was well and truly lifted.

"Tyki, do you really enjoy History this much?" She asked, sitting on the table over, feet on one of the plastic chairs. "I mean, lunchtime started like," she checked her wristwatch," eight minutes ago."

"I've lost his report," Lavi chimed in with a relived laugh.

"You said misplaced," Tyki added, eying up the door.

"Mikky," Lenalee starts, face the epitome of seriousness. "When Mr Bookman says misplaced he means lost. _Trust_ me."

The teen turned to his History teacher, glaring at the man. Mr Bookman just laughed, walking to his desk and placing his glasses back on.

"Don't think you can hide from your responsibilities by putting on your glasses, Mr Book and Spec!"

And once Tyki saw Lavi bristle at the nickname he couldn't stop himself from laughing. An incredibly contagious laugh, if he said so himself, because it wasn't soon till Miss Lee chimed in with her own cackles.

"Yes, yes," he sighs, waving his hands through the air as if conducting an orchestra. "Sing my pretties, while you can." He had a grin on his lips though. "Mr Mikk," he sings. "You may depart for your lunch. I apologise for my lack of proper management and shall explain the matter in the teachers' lounge tomorrow morning."

The kid just stares, eyebrow arched.

"Pssst," Lenalee goes. "It's Friday." To which his smile falters and Tyki snorts, gathering his blazer and bag from his chair.

"I knew that," his voice wavers. "I shall explain, as soon as I find the old geezer, what happened to the department head. Is what I meant." A pause, "obviously," he adds.

The two teachers wait until the teenager leaves and as soon as they see him re-join his friends through the window they laugh: big wholesome hoots of it. She's clutching her stomach and kicking her legs, Lavi, on the other hand, hold his hands over his head, cringe dancing to his desk.

"Awkward," Lenalee sings from her spot on the table.

"I could die, I might die," Lavi mutters, hands firmly in place over his face. "I'm supposed to be Mr Cool, not Mr Fuckup!"

"But Mr Fuckup suits you so much more," she coos, hopping off the table and waiting by the door. "Come on, Lavi, we have _things_ to discuss."

"Oh I like things," he chimes, head pinging up from his hands. He turns and leaves his room without her, popping into the little history tea room. He returns with two luminous pink waistcoats. Quickly climbing into one he gets down on one knee, presenting the other to his associate. "Miss Lee," he starts, gulping loudly. "Will you do me the honour of walking and talking with me?" He asks, holding the fabric out with a quivering bottom lip.

"Oh, Mr Bookman!" She gasps, momentarily cringing at how erotic the cry could've been taken by any eavesdropping bystanders. She blinks the thought away with a tiny shudder, taking the material between her fingers. "Yes, I will walk and talk with you."

"Then get suited and booted, Little Lena, we've places to be." He waits until she's threaded her hands through the armholes, stifling a laugh at how horrifically it clashes with her already overly pink ensemble. "How do you feel?" He grounds out, chomping down on his inner cheeks.

She looks down at herself, returning his look slowly. "I've never felt more beautiful," she whispers, hand on her chest as she closes her eyes dreamily.

"Seriously?" He can't keep the astonishment from his voice.

"No!" She spits, holding her arms open to his scrutiny. "I look like a rejected pink panther impressionist!"

* * *

"To which he informed me that, no. They had not been doing the do but had in fact been running to school in fear of being late." She finished, sitting down on one of the nearby benches.

"Bummer," Lavi sighs, taking root beside the other. "But they looked so guilty."

"Well, my little bird, it seems that guilt stems from more innocent events."

The two remain quiet, watching clusters of student pass by, sometimes correcting top buttons and untucked shirts. There was even the occasional scolding for littering, whenever one of the two was lucid enough to see it. But most of their lunchtime was spent grazing on fruit and basking in the rare September sun.

"I don't think we're wrong, though." Lavi sighs, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sunshine. "There's something going on, I agree with that much."

"Well," she starts, sitting herself upright. "I was just thinking back to Break." She bit her bottom lip, unsure as to whether what she thought was really worth uttering.

"Don't leave me hangin', Miss Lee."

"He didn't deny it." Her eyebrows were squashed together in a meaningful grimace. If such a thing exists.

"What? Doing the dirty deed?"

She laughed, "oh dear, he was right. It sounds worse when you don't really say it!" She ignored Lavi's look of befuddlement. "But, yeah. He just told me to stop making something out of nothing."

"Sounds pretty defensive," Lavi leant his head back, face thoughtful.

"I know right. And he never denied wanting to."

"They're totally dating, have to be."

"I agree. Have to be."

"No other explanation."

"Then we're in agreement."

He stood up, helping his associate up and letting her loop her arm in his. "I do think we are, Miss Bobbin. You should set the trap."

"I should shouldn't I, Mr Book and Spec."

The Textiles teacher pulled an overly glitzy phone from her hideous visor waistcoat. She swipes the screen and enters her passcode, creating a group text and typing in the message. Her accomplice just laughed, occasionally adding in ideas that the other ignored.

**To: **[Mr Art and Design], [Mr Context and Connotations]

**Message:** [Alright boys, first friday is over and done with! Well almost, one class till home time! (Thank the Lord!) I don't know about you three but I need a driiink! I'm thinking my place? Around 6? Bring your own (we all know alcohol doesn't last at my place!) and you'd all better be there! It's not like we have anything to do tomorrow haha! MsB xxxx]

"The trap is set," Lavi mutters by her ear, to which she laughs. The two do the usual, lap round the field and have a cheeky, secret ciggy in the teacher's car park. By the time the two enter the teachers longue, Lenalee notices she's got messages.

"Bookman, Bookman!" She cries, drawing the attention of more than the one intended colleague. She laughs a quick sorry and pulls Lavi towards the tea and coffee station. "They've text back," she whispers.

"Then why're you wasting time talking," he gushes back. "Open it, open it!"

So she does.

**From:** [Mr Context and Connotations]

**Message: **[Sounds great, Lenalee. However I may be a wee bit late as I'm helping out after school till half five. Add in travel time to yours and what not, basically, I won't make it for six exactly. I'll be there though! Scouts honour! MrC+C ]

"Suspicious," she mutters, texting back a cheery confirmation.

"He sends you smileys! I never get smileys."

"It's because I'm not gagging for them," she teases, sticking her tongue out as she winks up at him.

"Whatever," he sniffs. "Open up the other one."

**From:** [Mr Art and Design]

**Message:** [Cool. Have the afterschool artclub with yr10s and 11s till 5.30 though. Be there soon after. Later MA+D]

"Hold on a second…" Lavi drawls, exchanging looks with Miss Lee.

"They both…" She squints at her phone.

"Oh. My. God!" They cry in unison, both ignoring their startled peers.

"They're dating," she gushes.

"They're totally dating," he agrees.


End file.
